


break me open like the sky at the sunrise

by brandonsaad (createadisaster)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 16:16:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2435105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/createadisaster/pseuds/brandonsaad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Goddamn, Crow,” Duncs says from his stall, tossing a grin over at him. “Everyone in here owes you a steak and a blowjob.”</p><p>He glances up, intending to laugh it off along with his teammates, and accidentally makes eye contact with Saad. </p><p>Saad isn’t laughing.</p><p>Saad is looking back at him, the slightest smirk playing on his lips, and he looks a little intense, almost <i>hungry</i>. Corey thinks the room gets a little bit warmer. It might just be the flush on his cheeks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	break me open like the sky at the sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> so that was a goalie win if there ever was one (blackhawks opening night against the stars, 10/09/14), and when goalies win games they get rewards!

“Goddamn, Crow,” Duncs says from his stall, tossing a grin over at him. “Everyone in here owes you a steak and a blowjob.”

Corey’s never liked to talk himself up that way, but, judging by the laughter and agreement that goes through the locker room, the team (and probably the crowd, he supposes) is in pretty solid agreement that he won that game for the Hawks. 

He glances up, intending to laugh it off along with his teammates, and accidentally makes eye contact with Saad. 

Saad isn’t laughing.

Saad is looking back at him, the slightest smirk playing on his lips, and he looks a little intense, almost _hungry_. Corey thinks the room gets a little bit warmer. It might just be the flush on his cheeks.

\- 

He hasn’t even taken his jacket off yet when there’s a knock on his door. When he opens it, Saad is standing there, and he still has that look in his eyes, with a new hopeful little smile.

“Saader,” Corey says, a little surprised. “Um, what’s up?”

“Can I come in?” he asks.

Corey nods, steps back, shuts the door behind him.

Saad drops to his knees.

“What—” Corey takes a tiny startled step back, hits the wall. He presses his hands flat there, fingertips pressed against the textured wallpaper in a fruitless effort to find a grip.

He can hear how his own voice gets a little caught in his throat, coming out all high and startled, but god, Saad went down so _easy_ , real fluid, and his hair looks thick and soft and his tongue comes poking out of his lips just for a second and he’s got these huge blue eyes staring up at him and Corey is a little worried he’s going to faint.

“You wanna?” Saad asks, and somehow Corey is entirely positive that he could say no, and Saad would get up and smile at him and tell him what a good game he had and everything would be fine tomorrow. 

Corey doesn’t want to say no. He’s still just staring, though, unable to do much of anything besides take another slow, deep breath and bite his lower lip.

Saad puts one hand on the back of Corey’s leg, over the back of his knee, and it’s sensitive even over the thick fabric of his pants. The other hand is pressed flat against his hipbone, thumb just beneath the button. His touch is firm, but—but gentle, easy. Saad squeezes the back of his knee real light and offers him a small, hopeful grin.

Corey’s painfully aware of how his breath hitches. “Okay,” he finally says, “Okay, I—yes, _please_.”

The grin gets bigger, and Saad brings his other hand up to work his belt off him and undo his pants. Corey has to actively focus on keeping his knee from buckling without his hand there to steady him. 

He keeps one hand flat against the wall as the only anchor he’s got, but brings the other to curl into Saad’s hair, run his fingers from his temple to the back of his head. He grips a little lightly, and then as Saad leans in to mouth at him through his boxers, a little tighter.

“Are you—are you sure?” Corey finds himself asking, even as Saad works his pants and boxers down, just barely, just enough to wrap his hand around the base of his cock and lick from base to tip.

Saad manages to look unimpressed from his knees, and he takes the head of Corey’s dick into his mouth. Corey lets out a frankly embarrassing squeak and concludes that Saad is, in fact, sure.

Corey gets hard fast, like, near painfully fast, and Saad’s mouth is _perfect_. He’s staring at first, all but mesmerized by the way Saad’s lips close around his dick, but he has to shut his eyes for a second. He takes a breath, tilts his head back against the wall, tries to collect himself.

Saad pulls back, keeping his fist working on him. “Hey,” he says, and that voice—Corey’s so used to Saad being quiet, soft-spoken, sweet and friendly and surprisingly gentle, and this is—well, it’s that, with something extra, something more. 

Corey lets out a tiny whimper and doesn’t open his eyes.

“Hey,” he says again, and squeezes just a tiny bit. It’s not enough to hurt, but it’s enough to get his attention, and Corey’s eyes open wide, and he looks back down at him.

“Watch me,” Saad says, and he doesn’t sound like he’s asking. 

Corey manages to nod, mouth falling a little open, and Saad holds eye contact when he takes his cock back into his mouth. “I—okay,” he says breathlessly, and runs his fingers through Saad’s hair, pushes it back from his face. 

Saad moans around his dick. Crow’s losing his goddamn mind.

He manages to keep his eyes on him, but only because every time he shuts them for longer than a blink, or leans his head back against the wall, Saad stops, teases him, jerks him with a loose grip or plays with his balls, and when Corey looks back down at him, he’s waiting expectantly. 

“I’m sorry,” Corey says breathlessly, pets his hair in apology.

Saad grins at him and presses the tip of a finger against his hole, tearing something best described as a yelp from his throat and causing Corey’s hips to jerk without really meaning them to. 

“I’m not sorry,” Corey amends immediately, eyes going wide. “You could—more of that, please.”

“Well,” Saad says, like he’s considering it, and leans in to bite at his inner thigh. “Since you asked so nicely.” He pushes the tip of that finger in, just to the first joint, and it’s tight and dry and Saad gets his mouth back on his dick, and Corey’s pretty sure the entire universe is beginning and ending right here with Brandon Saad on his knees in a hotel room in Dallas.

He doesn’t push any more; Corey thinks he’s focused mostly on his cock, but that light, even pressure, with the tiniest stretch and burn—it’s driving him fucking crazy, and he’s sure Saad knows it.

Saad keeps going like that, rubbing and massaging his hole with a fingertip, sometimes just barely pressing in, and sucking his cock, working his tongue along the underside and his other hand at the base, and though Saad closes his eyes or looks away from Corey’s face sometimes, Corey now knows better than to focus his eyes on anything but this, and—and, besides, he’d sort of like to keep this image forever.

Corey’s trying with everything he’s got to keep his hips still, keep letting Saad set the pace, but they jerk forward without his permission. Saad chokes, just a little, and Corey rushes to apologize. “Shit, shit, sorry, I—”

“No worries,” Saad interrupts him, and brings one arm, pushes it up against him and backs him against the wall. The pressure is more than Corey would have expected. He supposes he knew objectively that Saad is strong, but that’s very different from the heavy, warm weight of his forearm against him, keeping him still, and his eyes go a little wider.

Saad’s been alternating between teasing and intensity, pushing Corey almost to the edge and then easing off, and Corey honestly has no idea how long it’s been when he finally shows some mercy and _doesn’t_ pull it back, gets Corey gasping and gripping at his shoulders through his dress shirt and then goes further still.

“Saader— _Brandon_ , I’m gonna—“ he manages. “If you don’t stop, I’m gonna come.” 

Saad doesn’t stop. Instead, he hums around his dick, sounding pleased, and takes him impossibly deeper. He drops the arm that had been keeping his hips steady and presses that hand into his thigh, his nails just barely scraping the skin. Corey digs the fingers of one hand into his shoulder and tugs at his hair with the other in a final warning, and then loses it, lets his hips stutter as he comes in Saad’s fucking _incredible_ mouth.

“Fuck,” Corey exhales when it passes, feeling a little dazed, loosening his grip and smoothing his hands over where he’d been pulling. “Fuck, Brandon…”

Saad makes another pleased noise and swallows. Corey can feel more than see the movement of his throat, and lets out a weak whimper. When Saad pulls back and grins up at him, lips very pleasantly red and hair all over the place, Corey goes a little weak at the knees.

After leaning in to press one more kiss to the head of his dick, Saad puts him back into his boxers and then pulls his pants back up, fastens them, even tucks his shirt in and works his belt back through the loops. He stands up and smiles, presses a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Good game, Crow,” he says with a grin. “We’ll get that steak for you tomorrow, yeah?”

It’s not until Saad actually starts to open the door that Corey realizes he’s about to _leave_ , and he blurts, “Hey, hey, _wait_.”

Saad turns around, looking a bit surprised. “Yeah?”

Corey, more awkward than he thinks he’s been since he was like, fifteen, gestures a little uselessly to Saad’s pants, where his erection is _clearly_ straining against the fabric. “Don’t you want me to—?”

Saad shrugs. “It’s alright, man. Your night.” 

He reaches for the door again, and Corey blurts, “It’s my night, so I get what I want, right?”

He drops his hand, turns back to face him. “Yeah,” he says slowly, and leans against the door.

“So,” Corey says, drawing up all the bravery he’s got. “So, I want to get you off.”

Saad starts to grin, that same sort of hunger Corey had seen in the locker room. “You do.”

“I want—I want to watch you jerk off,” he says. “That’s what I want. And for you to come on my chest.” Saad is quiet, just looking at him, eyes focused like he’s trying to put something together. “That’s what I want,” he says hurriedly. “And it’s—my night?” He loses his nerve, a little bit, and it comes out as a question, but Saad’s grin only gets bigger.

“It’s your night,” he agrees, and steps forward, gets in Corey’s space. He works his belt back off him, tugs his shirt out from where he’d so carefully tucked it in. He’s so close Corey thinks he’s going to kiss him, but instead he just works the buttons of his shirt open, precise and almost torturously slow. 

Saad walks them backwards to the bed and pushes Corey down on it; Corey’s shirt is hanging off his shoulders and Saad’s unbuttoning his own, then undoing his own belt and pants, shoving them down past his hips. He’s wearing these black boxer briefs, and Corey can’t stop staring at his line of his dick through the fabric, doesn’t know if he wants more to touch or to keep staring, let Saad do what he likes.

Saad comes to straddle his hips, standing on his knees over him, and slowly works his underwear down. His dick’s long and slender, cut, not really anything like Corey’s own, but it’s—it’s gorgeous, and Corey, propped up on his elbows, legs bent at the knees, shifts his weight so he can reach out for it. 

He wraps his fingers loosely around the base, gives him a few slow strokes, and Saad tilts his head back, his body a long, perfect line from his neck to his collarbones to his abs to his _cock_ to his knees, and Corey feels a little out of his depth. He lets his hand drop and gets back up on his elbows, looking up at Saad.

Saad grins at him and replaces where Corey’s hand had been with his own, and Corey gets to watch and learn the way he likes it, notes the way his grip is a little tight by the way his knuckles are the tiniest bit white. He’s so focused on Saad’s hand on his dick that he almost forgets to look up at his face, but when he does, Saad’s eyes are shut.

“Hey,” he says, smiles a little up at him. “Look at me.”

Saad opens his eyes and then grins, makes eye contact and hold it. “You’re real pretty, you know,” he says, and Corey can feel himself flush, the warmth in his cheeks and down his chest. “You are.”

“Nah,” Corey says, and Saad shifts, leans down over him, puts all his weight on one hand and his knees and keeps the other hand moving on his cock. He’s so much closer to him now than before. Their bodies aren’t touching _anywhere_ but he’s so close Corey would swear he can feel how warm his body is, and Corey’s eyes widen, looking down to his dick then up to his lips then finally to those blue, blue eyes.

“You are,” Saad says, very seriously, and Corey bites his lower lip. “Fucking beautiful. And talented, best goalie in the league. And you’re funny. And—”

Corey kisses him to shut him up, and Saad makes a surprised little noise, and then there’s something warm and wet and a little sticky hitting his abs, and Corey pulls back to look down and watch Saad come over his skin.

“Holy shit,” Saad says a little breathlessly, and when Corey glances back up at his face, he’s staring too, down at his hand and Corey’s stomach, with his mouth stretched into this little grin. “Holy shit, Corey.”

“Yeah,” Corey agrees, except he’s not totally sure what he’s agreeing to besides, like, _holy shit_ , and then Saad’s scooting back on the bed a little so he can bend over to run his tongue up his abs, lick up his own fucking come, and Crow feels vaguely like he’s going to pass out. 

He drops from his elbows to his back, raises his arms above his head and stretches, arches his hips up off the bed just a little. Saad’s settled between his legs, bent over to keep his mouth on his stomach, and those strong arms wrap around his back and pull him impossibly closer, and Corey grips the posts of the headboard in some tiny attempt to ground himself. 

Saad doesn’t set him down or straighten up until he’s licked him clean, and then a little more for good measure, and Corey’s dick is making a valiant effort to get back in the game. He’s half hard, refractory period be damned, but when Saad eases him back down to the bed and swirls his tongue around the head of his cock, Corey has to push lightly at his shoulder.

“Too much?” Saad asks, moving up a bit and rubbing his hands along his sides. 

“Yeah,” Corey answers, taking a breath. “Yeah, this was—a lot.”

Saad hesitates, bites his lip. “Good a lot?” he asks, looking nervous, and Corey reaches for him, laces their fingers together.

“Really good,” he promises, and brings one of his hands up to kiss his palm. “Is it still my night?”

Saad checks the clock. “I mean, it’s past midnight, but if you haven’t gone to sleep, it’s still not tomorrow, right? What else do you want?”

Corey smiles a little hopefully. “I want you to stay.”

When Saad smiles, it’s like the fucking sun, and he stretches out on the bed beside him, lies on his side and runs his fingers up and down his chest. “Well. It _is_ your night.”

\- 

Brandon keeps his promise, and he takes Corey out for steak the very next night.

**Author's Note:**

> come hang out with me on [tumblr](http://brandonsaaders.tumblr.com) for more hockey shenanigans!


End file.
